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12/14/12

So I've been invited to participate in a really cool club called The Secret Subject Swap, hosted by Baking in a Tornado. By invited, I mean I totally invited myself and wasn't booted at the door even though my name wasn't on the list.

Secret Subject Swap is much like a Secret Santa party, except with blog topics. Your topic is chosen by the Secret Subject Swap gods (i.e. Karen, at Baking in a Tornado) from a pool of topics submitted by all participating bloggers. She tells you what your topic is, but no one else knows. And on a chosen day, you all reveal your posts about your given topic. My topic was submitted by Dinosaur Superhero Mommy, and is "Whoa, you won one million in the lottery... what do you do?"

So...

The prudent part of me would invest some in mutual funds; ELSS's and ULIP's and what not. I'd invest some in a business start-up (I hear One Classy Motha is coming up with some patent-pending Beaver Babies... a learning tool that has a hilarity factor of about a billion). I'd give a little to stem cell research and I'd invest in the grey sweat sock industry (long story). And lastly, I'd invest in Ann Taylor. Why? Because they make pants.

I'd also give my folks a chunk. I figure they earned it after 30-odd years of my crap. And I'd send a hunk to Mr. Martini's folks too. We're not talking like I'm all giving and philanthropic. We're talking enough to buy a new TV, or to go on a short vacation, or something. Okay fine. A new car. And a fancy watch. But the bulk would be invested.

The real me (read: not prudent, take-the-money-and-run-around-like-an-idiot-screaming-"I'm-Rich-Bitch" me) would go to Vegas and bet on black. I'd buy a Jaguar, just so I could say I drive a Jag-u-ar, pronounced like they do in the commercials, which is not at all like anyone, anywhere pronounces it. I would buy a boat even though I live approx. 300 miles from the nearest body of water. I would go to Tiffany's and try on EVERYTHING and buy NOTHING!

How much do I have left?

I would buy a pony. I would buy an inflatable bounce house and I would have that sucker inflated ALL THE TIME! I would buy a fur coat. No I wouldn't. But I'd buy a damn good fake. I'd buy stock in Barefoot Wines. Hell, I'd start a Pinot Grigio winery and call it I'm Rich Bitch Wines. I would also buy at least 23 kegs of Berghoff and 190 lbs of shell-on peanuts so I could re-live my college days.

I would buy designer pants in all shapes and sizes and throw them out my car window at moms with shopping carts full of children and messy hair at the Walmart... cause I know how they feel. I would buy 4 lbs of king crab legs and eat them all myself. I would also by a 24 pack of toilet paper, because that kind of intestinal assault would definitely land me on the hopper for a full 2 hours.

Lastly, I would buy the rights to this song:

Be sure to check out the other Secret Subject Swap topics and responses by clicking here. I would tell you to vote for me, but it's not that kind of club.

12/13/12

So this week's Theme Thursday post from Something Clever 2.0 is about weddings. I could talk your ear off about weddings, since my day job is to create fabulous custom wedding invitations for bridezillas around the world. But today I have to talk about my own wedding. Which was perfect. And included no invitations at all. Which made it even more perfect.

See, my husband and I had a whirlwind courtship. We "hooked up" in March and were married by Thanksgiving. We travelled throughout the US during that time, bought a house, renovated it, got pregnant, and then decided, well, we should seal the deal, I guess. We thought about having a real wedding. A small intimate affair that would take place in Chicago (neutral territory for both of our families), but for several reasons (mostly because I was afraid my dad would have a stroke if we told him, since he was still paying off my first wedding) we decided to elope. I walked into my office one November morning and there was a ticket to Hawaii sitting on my keyboard. How could you NOT marry that guy?

I was whisked away to the Halekulani Hotel in Honolulu. Um, yeah. There was a button by the door you could ring for a personal concierge. The bathroom was bigger than my whole apartment. The view of Waikiki beach was Amazeballs. But there was construction going on at a nearby hotel that just sort of cramped our "pretending to be rich super-snob" style. So Mr. Martini asked for a refund and we hopped on the first plane to the Kauai. That was back when we did that sort of crazy shit all the time. Just hop on a plane and go to XYZ. Or just decide not to get on a plane and do something else. I don't want to sound like a rich super-snob, but it was fun pretending to be a rockstar for a minute. Of course we're still paying for those 6 months of fun that started 7 years ago, but whatevs.

There was a golf tourney going on at our hotel and our beach cabana was right next to Tiger Woods' (you know, before we knew Tiger was a raging douchebag). So we thought we were the Shiznit! And we were gonna get married! Whoot Whoot! I was a princess! So now we had to find someone to marry us. Which we didn't realize would be such a difficult thing to do. I called like a dozen marriage guys (you know, pastors, reverends, etc. that do beach weddings as a side gig) and everyone was booked. OMG! We flew all the way to frickin Hawaii and all I got was this stupid bag of Macadamia nuts? WTF? I wanna get married!!! We finally found a pastor/wild boar hunter who said he could do it. At 4pm. That day.

I didn't even have a dress. Not anything I thought would be marginally appropriate, at least. Turns out, nothing at the only shopping place we could find would be very appropriate either. Since I was pressed for time (we're talking like 2 hours till "go" time here), I grabbed the only thing that fit reasonably well and ran off (funny how that has become a theme in my normal everyday life too...).
I would be getting hitched in a black knee length party dress with big red hibiscus flowers printed all over it. Meh. It beat out sequined hoochie dress. It would have to do.

We made it to the beach on time, as they say, and met our pastor. A real nice guy who asked us over for Thanksgiving dinner. They would be serving wild boar caught using table scraps from his son's restaurant. I liked the guy immediately. Mr. Martini however, was a ball of nervous energy. He was so nervous you could literally see fear in his eyes. And then he was asked to do the impossible. Wait until we saw a sea turtle. Say what, Mr.? We have to stand here looking into the ocean until we see a frickin sea turtle before you'll marry us? Heh? So finally, after what seemed like at least five minutes, Mr. Martini lied so we could get on with it. That's how you should always start out your married life... with a big ol' fat lie to a man of the cloth.

There was some kind words, a declaration of love, some vows (which I have a printed copy of somewhere) and the exchange of rings. And of course the kiss. There are three wedding photos of us, and one is the fake kiss we did after the "ceremony". Turns out our boar-hunting pastor was also an amateur photographer, and he wanted to get the perfect shot. In any event, we got hitched. We were married. It was official. Let the throwing of the rice, popping of the champagne, eating of the cake, and dancing off the asses commence!! And then...

That night, we did what all married couples do. ;)

I fell asleep while he watched the UCLA-USC football game on TV.

It was the most perfect day ever, and I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.